This world was not meant for people like us It kills us Or makes us strange. It fills us with words That leak from our hearts And brand us when they escape our mouths I cannot imagine Living a long and happy life There is something in me Which makes that possibility improbable. These people Who live too deeply And feel too strongly I guess we’re just born With faulty mental immune systems. Every infection gets by Traps itself within the folds of self And ravages the soul. I would like to empty myself out And start all over again Build my psyche from the bottom up See if I can’t design a better structure. Something that won’t blow apart Or be lifted free of its moorings And tumbled off haphazardly to Oz At the first gust of wind. Dreams It’s all just dreams And will-o’-the-wisps Dancing through barren terrain. These people People like me People like all the people I’ve ever loved We can’t be healed We just hurt each other And tear at each other And mar the surface of these imperfect beings all the more Broken people grating against broken people Full of pieces that don’t fit us And don’t fit anyone else either. Our lives have made a mess of us Or we have made a mess of our lives. There’s nothing left here And I refuse to fight anymore To keep on making frantic calls On connections crumbled to dust.